


Virgil - Bloodstained Clothes

by HedwigsTalons



Series: Hedwig's Bad Things Happen Bingo [4]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Bleeding Out, Blood Loss, Gen, unnoticed wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26823439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HedwigsTalons/pseuds/HedwigsTalons
Summary: Virgil should have been taking it easy, instead he is scaring his brothers by reopening old wounds
Series: Hedwig's Bad Things Happen Bingo [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956313
Comments: 9
Kudos: 23





	Virgil - Bloodstained Clothes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gumnut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gumnut/gifts).



> A Bad Things Happen Bingo fic for Gumnut who requested some Virgil whump for the Bloodstained Clothes square

It was Scott who found him.

Scott who found him but Gordon who realised something was wrong when his cheerful exuberance was greeted with neither fond indulgence nor growled warning to back off and keep quiet.

“Hey, hey! All back safe and not a single mark on your ‘bird.” Gordon announced his presence to the lounge, all sunshine and smiles.

Scott looked up from the desk he’d reached a good 20 minutes earlier, already reviewing the mission log. It seemed the slower arrival of Thunderbird Two also heralded the end of his peace and quiet.

“Keep it down, why don’t you. Can’t you see Virg is sleeping?”

“Bit hard to miss, what with him being flat out on my favourite couch. What’s a guy got to do to get a sit down after a mission?” 

“Well, can’t you sit down somewhere else?” He was getting nowhere fast with the data files, the holo-projection was flicked to one side so he could look at his brother without the haze of blue numbers getting in the way.

“Nah. Besides, he asked for an update every time I flew Two and,” he checked his watch, “the big guy is due his antibiotics so needs to get up anyway.”

Scott checked his own watch and made a few calculations. It turned out Gordon was at least partially correct; Virgil was indeed due his next round of meds. He hardly felt the threatened ‘if I find so much as a scratch you haven’t owned up to once I’m allowed back in the hangers then you are one dead fish’ hardly counted as needing an instant update though. Still, they were all protective of their craft and could get grumpy as hell when they were grounded. 

“Fine, give him a nudge, but go gently.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” a mock salute was thrown out as Gordon stepped down into the seating area and towards his slumbering sibling. “Y’know, it’s odd he isn’t up already, Virg gives the rest of us hell over antibiotics.”

This was true. Of all of them Virgil was normally so good about drug schedules for anything other than painkillers and he knew how important it was to take the full course of antibiotics. Scott had been run to ground more than once when he had his own injuries and lectured by the medic on the importance of the correct use of antibiotics and the global threat posed by antibiotic resistance. Gordon might be a pain at times but he was equally strict with drug regimes and Scott was about to become incredibly glad of this fact.

“Viiiirg. Virgieeee.” It wasn’t often Gordon got permission to wake the sleeping bear and he couldn’t resist a little teasing over it. “C’mon sleeping beauty, time to wake up.”

The form on the couch stayed resolutely still and prone.

“Virgil?” A little louder this time and with a slight edge of concern creeping in. Virgil hadn’t moved throughout his whole conversation with Scott and also evidently hadn’t been roused by the earlier landing on Thunderbird One; he knew Virgil could sleep deeply sometimes but this was ridiculous for a day time nap. 

The aquanaut knelt down by his brother and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. 

Nothing.

Now he was up close he could take in how pale Virgil was. Worryingly so.

He shook a bit harder and was rewarded with a groan in response but he was unable to fully wake the engineer.

“Scott!” There was still some clear concern now, mixed in with the tone of authority more commonly heard on rescues and Scott’s head snapped up and away from the figures he had returned too. The look on Gordon’s face was enough to have him on his feet in a moment, crossing the short space from the desk and vaulting into the conversation pit.

“Call Grandma. Gonna need a stretcher too.” Gordon had started triage, checking vitals and making a well practiced assessment of Virgil’s condition. “He conscious but I can’t rouse him. Pulse a little high but strong.” Fingers were carefully slipped into the gap between Virgil and the back of the couch. The hand that was withdrawn was smeared in crimson. “Aww man, he’s bust his stitches.”

This information was relayed over the comms and it wasn’t many minutes before Grandma entered the lounge, trailed by Alan who came bearing a hover stretcher loaded with her medical kit.

“What do we have, boys?” 

Gordon reeled out a stream of information, half of which Scott hadn’t even realised he’d been gathering during his assessment. He should be used to it by now, he’d seen it often enough, but he was once again surprised by how quickly his little brother could flip from annoying wind up merchant to active responder. Pure professional.

Surprised, but proud.

Being transferred onto the stretcher, with its accompanying stab of pain to his injured side, was enough to rouse Virgil from his stupor. The concerned words that permeated his consciousness were enough to keep him the right side of awake.

“What’s up?” he slurred. “Feel...foggy.”

“Steady up, big guy.” Gordon laid a gentle hand on Virgil’s shoulder, preventing him from trying to sit up. “You’ve managed to rip your stitches somehow. And looking at the mess you’ve lost enough blood to make you feel a bit woozy. What’cha been up too?”

Virgil settled back and groaned. “Was only painting,” he mumbled.

Scott looked at the canvas set up by the picture window. A canvas that was huge and would have needed Virgil to stretch to reach the top edge. 

Stretching was a banned activity for a man who had only recently been cleared to leave the infirmary after being pierced by rebar in a building collapse.

Scott could picture the scene as clearly as he could see the part finished evidence of his brother’s labours. Immersed in his art Virgil could easily have been distracted enough to not notice the damage he was doing, especially if he’d not long taken his painkillers. The seeping blood and the exertion of painting would have worn him out until he gave in to the need for a nap and settled on the couch.

That same couch was now marred by an ugly, dark stain. 

Scott felt guilty for not realising something was wrong. He was their eldest. Their protector. He should have known the slumbering bear was hibernating more deeply than usual. Should have spotted the pallid skin. The laboured breathing. The slight sheen of sweat.

But he hadn’t.

If it hadn’t been for Gordon and his rigid committing to memory of drug schedules whenever a brother was injured Virgil could have been left to sleep and bleed, the leaking wound hidden out of sight while the blood leached into the upholstery.

Blood.

There had been so much of it.

He felt sick at the memories of the rebar, punctured through uniform and skewering his brother. The spreading crimson stain consuming the blue so quickly despite their care not to disturb the wound any more than necessary. The fear as hypovolemic shock set in and the adrenaline fuelled dash to a hospital to access the necessary transfusions.

A hand on his arm broke through his reverie and he found himself confronted by those same concerned eyes that had made such a thorough assessment of their brother. Now it was Scott’s turn to be in the spotlight. Appraised. Assessed. Triaged.

“I’m fine, Gordon.” He didn’t need to hear the question before he snapped out the reflex answer.

“Sure you are. Just sit down for me Scott, you’ve gone a bit pale.” Legs buckled at the command and Scott folded into the nearest seat, Gordon claiming the next space along. The comforting hand was replaced. “Virgil’s going to be fine. Grandma’s gonna get him sorted.”

“But…”

“It looks worse than it is. He just needs to get his stitches checked and redressed. The worst casualty is his shirt, and maybe that couch.” He waved in the direction of the offending seat and Scott found his eyes transfixed on the mark; it felt like damning evidence of his oversight to check on Virgil. “Now come on, we have a brother in need of rescue. I heard Grandma threatening chicken soup as they took him off. Unless you think it will help him learn his lesson to stay away from that canvas.”


End file.
